One of Those Women
by Kazzy
Summary: Michelle contemplates what’s between her and Tony. Taken right at the end of Day Two.


**E-mail address – **kazzy@whoever.com**  
Rating – **PG****

**Spoilers – **7am-8am Day Two**  
Summary – **Michelle contemplates what's between her and Tony.****

**Disclaimer – **I don't own '24'. Sad, but true.****

**Notes – **I write angst. It's what I do. As such I have no idea where this came from. Fluffy stuff is not my style. So, if this turns out to be off the wall I apologise. Let me know either way, your comments are always appreciated.

****

She'd always deplored women who'd pranced around, dressed in garish and revealing clothes, make-up so heavy they probably needed acid to remove it at night. All this just to attract a man, to get him to notice her, so she could live off the buzz of his desire for a short while. They made sure someone was watching, always. It was degrading. Even if it was to catch the one man they had their eye on. Even those who did to a lesser extent, using their wiles slyly to chase guys. The mere thought of dressing just to make someone look at her made her lip curl. She wasn't weak like that.

In their own way women like that were worse than those of Carrie's ilk – cold ambitious women who cared for no-one and nothing save their own ends. At least these didn't weakly rely on the approval of others for their self worth – only on the power and position they held. Of course, it wasn't that much of an improvement. Not when it meant that you destroyed people like carry had done to Danny.

No, it was far better to be noticed for your achievements. To let your work speak for itself. Oh, she dressed nice, clothes conservatively fashionable, shoes Italian made, hair neatly pinned back, a touch of make-up. It never hurt to look well dressed. Anyway, it suited her image, calm, unruffled and professional, no sign of weakness. She had a job to do and it paid to look the part. People respected you more that way. 

She enjoyed what she did. Maybe in a few years she might feel like moving on, moving up in her work for the American government, but right now she was satisfied doing this. Here she could help people. Higher up the waters would become muddied; even in her current position at CTU, today, she'd come dangerously close to compromising her morals, of being forced to go against a fundamental belief she held: that all life should be respected.

Despite everything (or perhaps because of) she knew he believed this, too. She could understand the decisions he made, although they had at first been hard to comprehend. He had only been doing what was he believed to be right. When he had realised what was really happening he had known what he needed to do, and had done it. There wasn't a lot of room in him for pride, not when terrorists and war threatened. He had known the consequences of his actions and seeing him go ahead with them anyway, had warmed her. She had known that even if afterwards he turned away from her, her appraisal of his character had been right.

She could remember the day she first noticed him. She hadn't been working at CTU long. Maybe a few weeks. He'd been arguing with George Mason over a minor point on some unimportant case. It had been late, over half the office had gone home – you could see more dim workstations than lit ones. Although the content of their discussion was lost to her now, the two men had been close enough for her to hear what they were saying. He'd argued his side passionately – sure what he was saying was right. Mason had eventually given in – a rare occurrence, and a testament to his perseverance; Mason was surly and bull-headed, needing a lot of convincing before he would budge. Right then she felt the first stirrings of…something…she wasn't quite sure what, yet; even now the emotions were too new, too unexplored. 

From then she'd started to dress a little…more. Nothing overtly noticeable, and certainly nothing that would pull close attention from too many people. She'd always walked confidently, but now there was the slightest sway in her movements. Nothing deliberate, and when she'd noticed she'd been shocked, but not entirely unpleased.

She'd heard vaguely through rumours of his relationship to Nina Meyers, the traitor, and it had set her back a little caused her to back off slightly – not that she been too forward anyway. The knowledge had given her a reason for his reticence, though. Heartening to note that he wasn't turning away from her mild flirting through dislike or distaste. At the same time, however, it was painful, because she knew he had an even stronger reason to not notice her now. If her step in his direction had been tiny the one back was miniscule – she refused to drop off completely. 

So she'd waited patiently, and eventually had caught the vaguest flicker of attention from him. Little things, even more subtle than her own movements. A brief glance here and there, a small smile once in a while on a usually solemn face. She worked hard, but kept her head up, and made sure she was there if he needed her for something. Slowly he began to seek out her help deliberately and of his own accord, coming to her first for things he could have approached others with. He'd remained a respectful distance, but so had she. Neither one of them, she'd realised, had been completely sure how much further to step.

Then, at last, this horrible day had happened. The world had, almost literally, fallen around their shoulders. Somehow, though, she had found hope. Through Mason of all people, "Don't wait for your life to happen to you," he'd said, "Find something that makes you happy – everything else is just background noise." So she'd stuck her foot out and for a while she thought it had been stuck too far. But then he'd met her there. Stepped up to the mark. Their advances had nearly been destroyed, but in the end it had all fallen into place.

She remembered the kiss they'd shared in the shadows. Abrupt and probably inappropriate. Not necessarily a bad thing – her friends often pointed out she needed to live a little more, and Mason's words had sung in her ears. The feel of his lips against hers had been…thrilling, but uncertain. Everything had been so shaky at that point, with her brother, Carrie, the threatening war. Had it been heat of the moment? Or did their feelings truly run deeper, and the elaborate game they had played for the last year meant something more? She would have to take time to analysis it now.

Later, in that room, when he offered to let her go free, taking the fall himself, her heart had leapt. She could get off! Maybe with only a reprimand, maybe with no black marks at all. But even in that second she had known she could not do that; she'd been so sure she'd done the right thing today by insisting the Cyprus recording was a fake – how could she start compromising herself now? She couldn't. When she told him she was staying, his look had once again warmed her, and she could slowly see his faith in people returning. He'd really expected her to take the golden opportunity then and for the first time she realised just how badly he'd been burned by Nina.

It was all over now. No war. She would not be thrown in Federal Prison labelled a traitor to her country. Oh, she was not naïve enough to believe that it was completely finished – the ramifications of today would be felt for a long time – but this hurdle was done with. She could rest knowing that for a brief time she could relax her guard, she could grieve for lost colleagues and sort out her feelings over Paula's death and her own part in it. And…and she could explore this new, dangerous territory. A relationship.

Unerringly, her eyes met his. He was up in his new office looking down across the few remaining people. They'd be on a skeleton staff today, and more replacements and temps would be added. So many people had worked so hard and would continue to do so – they deserved a break. Him not least of all. He smiled slightly and inclined his head over the remaining workers. Once again over half the people were gone, and the dark workstations stood out in patches.

She smiled slightly in return and turned back to her work. There was still so much uncertainty in whatever relationship they could build. They might not last long, or they might not last at all. There was a small part of her that told her she tell him it wouldn't work, that they couldn't be together. She shushed it. She could feel his eyes still on her, but she didn't look up to meet them, instead focused back on the last few finishing bits, which needed doing.

Still, she straightened her shoulders a little more, and adjusted her jacket, fought the urge to run a hand over her hair…and lost. She wanted him to look. To notice her, and she didn't wanted to hide that she wanted his attention. Her lips curled into a secret smile: she was enjoying this.

So, she'd become one of _those_ women. This didn't feel like a weakness, or particularly like power. And, strangely, she couldn't bring herself to feel upset.

*****

**A/N:** There you have it. Officially what I call fluff. _Please **Review.**_ **__**


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